


Imposter Syndrome

by pandapresident



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Internal Conflict, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, featuring the black eagles because they are my darlings, instead it's just ridiculous, this was going to be a ridiculous one-shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandapresident/pseuds/pandapresident
Summary: Linhardt asking him to sleep with him should have been a dream come true, but the war is nothing compared to the battles Caspar wages against himself. In order to make himself feel like he's enough, he tries to learn how to be good in bed. It doesn't go as planned, but the Black Eagles Strike Force have his back. Whether that is a bane or a boon remains to be seen.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra (implied)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Imposter Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started this during Caspardt week only for it to run away from me. I hope you enjoy!

Caspar had been hard at work in the training grounds, honing old techniques and creating new ones, practicing them until they come as naturally as stretching after a hard day. His muscles felt what he once described to Linhardt as “red”: worn, sore, pumped up with blood. Only his face is actually flushed that colour, but he still thought the adjective stands. Linhardt hadn’t pushed it down with reason (capitalised or otherwise), so Caspar was going to keep on using it until he does. Since he’d been getting away with using it for over a decade, he can’t see Linhardt banning the term any time soon.

Amidst all the uncertainty of war (whether there will be enough food supplies, who they’ll face in battle next, whether they’re all going to make it home from the next fight) any constant is welcome. There are precious few of them as even the sturdy monastery that stood for nearly a millennia has crumbled in the face of the war. They’ve all been helping out with putting it back together, but even as the stray cats start flocking back to the monastery, there’s an unspoken understanding that the place itself will never be the same again.

Everyone he knows has been affected by a combination of growing older and the turbulence of war. Sometimes, when he’s sat in the dining hall, he can almost see what it was like back in its heyday: a crowd of people from across the nation, laughing and joking and bonding over delicious food. Now it’s a smaller (but growing) group of people, with even the infrequent smiles weighed down by weary eyes.

Caspar didn’t think he’s changed much. He knew he’s still the idealist who’d punch the teeth out of a demonic beast with his fist rather than waste time concocting a plan when someone’s in danger. Linhardt has given him countless reprimands while bandaging him up: not to run too far ahead, to consider protecting his own life as well as other people’s. Rationally, Caspar knew every time that Linhardt was right, but that has never stopped him repeating history and leaping forward to be the hero. Which proves – at least, to Caspar – that he hasn’t gotten much smarter, either. He has no trouble following the long conversations in the war room, contributing ideas that would never occur to most people, and commits himself to whatever is finally agreed – all while being shamefully aware that in the heat of the moment, he’ll do whatever his gut tells him is right.

The others sure didn’t see in him the changes that he’s noticed in them. Dorothea recently joked over breakfast that he and Linhardt were just the same as when she’d first arrived at the monastery. Caspar could see where she was coming from: he’d been shovelling food in his mouth as Linhardt drifted off on his shoulder, having exhausted his energy for the day by staying up all night reading about techniques for amplifying wards and arguing with Caspar over the best way to brew tea. (Linhardt was thoroughly in the camp of allowing someone else to do it, but Caspar contended that then you’d never get it just the way you liked it. Linhardt had rebutted that if you asked someone to do it enough times, they would learn to make it better than you could ever hope to. Caspar pointed out that they could just get further and further from the way you liked it until you forgot what it was that you liked.)

“It’s good to see some things stay the same,” she’d said. Caspar, who had finished allowing a pot of tea to steep, grinned as he poured it out.

“So you’re not gonna tell me off for slurping?” he asked, nudging Linhardt and passing him a cup.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dorothea said, wincing. She took a cup from Caspar and sipped it daintily. “But your little double act is comforting.”

“Alas, Caspar is trying to bring it to an early end,” Linhardt said, blinking twice (his long green lashes fluttering like Caspar’s heart) before lifting his head from Caspar’s shoulder. “If not by choking on his food, then by rushing head-first into battle. Which, I’ll give you, is no different from when we first got here.”

“Hey!” Caspar protested, pushing his plate away. He could usually retain his appetite in the face of Linhardt’s sombre commentary, but this one had cut too close to the bone. “I’m not going to die.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Linhardt said, laying his head back down on Caspar’s shoulder.

And sure, Dorothea was right in that much of that could have happened back when they were students: they had stuck to each other all that time and Linhardt had never been shy about sharing his opinion, while Caspar was always ready to challenge it. It wasn’t the same, though. On the most basic level, Caspar hadn’t been tall enough for Linhardt to use his shoulder as a pillow when they’d been at the academy. This was a minor point, but a point of secret pride for Caspar, that the gap between their heights had narrowed. And as a student, he’d never been grateful just to see Lin’s face every morning, because he couldn’t guarantee that it would be there the next day. He’d taken so much for granted.

Speaking of Linhardt, or, to be more accurate, thinking of Linhardt, Caspar spotted him as he heads towards the dining hall. Forgetting his fatigue, he jogged over and slung an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. One perk of not being students any longer: he was tall enough to do so without needing to get on his toes.

“Hey, Lin,” he said, falling into a much slower pace to match with his friend, “How’s it going?”

The sky overhead was grey and thick with clouds. Caspar preferred the monastery when the sky is clear and the sun can shine, unfiltered, down onto the grounds, but the growing number of cats that have resumed residence here don’t seem to mind. One of them nuzzled his ankles as they pass.

“You’ve come straight from training,” Linhardt observed. It’s not an answer to the question, but Caspar doesn’t mind.

“That’s right! How’d you know?” Of course, it’s no surprise that Linhardt knew. He seemed to know everything, or at least has an answer for everything, which Caspar felt was close enough. Any insight into the strange way Linhardt’s mind works was welcome, though, and he took the opportunity to learn more. “Is it my bulging muscles? They’ve grown, haven’t they?”

“I –“ Linhardt opened and closed his mouth as Caspar flexed his muscles. The rare moments when Linhardt doesn’t have an answer are always worth treasuring, and Caspar hoarded them like a dragon from a fairy tale guarding its gold. “I do not believe your muscles have visibly grown since I saw you this morning, no.”

“Aw,” Caspar said.

“Any growth that would be noticeable to the bare eye would be a symptom of swelling,” Linhardt said, “So, to be frank, I’m relieved that you seem to be much the same size as you were when I saw you last.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caspar said, stretching and putting his hands behind his head. If that angle enhanced the bulge in his muscles, well, so much the better. “Then how’d you know?”

“You’re drenched from your exertions,” Linhardt said. There was something reproving in his voice, but a curve to his lips. Caspar still yelped and pulled his arm from Linhardt’s shoulders. “No, the damage is done. I should change. Maybe into sleepwear…I could do with a nap.”

“Still,” Caspar said, taking a step back, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Linhardt said, waving the apology aside. “Really, don’t you think I’m immune it by now?”

“Hey! I don’t get sweaty that often.”

“You’ve been running around me since we were children,” Linhardt reminded him. “And now, when we’re not on the battlefield, you’re training for the next time you’ll be there. Sweat is a normal result of this ridiculous level of exertion you’re constantly putting yourself through. It’s fine. At least, now that we’re grown up and you’re better about maintaining a decent level of hygiene-“

“Okay, okay!”

“Anyway, I have some very important sleeping to do, and this is as good as an excuse as I’m likely to get…”

Caspar objected to this on two grounds: firstly, if Linhardt goes to sleep now then he’s going to sleep through the next meal and he’s already done that twice this week. Secondly, he’s barely seen Linhardt today.

“What about dinner?”

Linhardt grumbled, clearly weighing up the hassle of staying awake for dinner versus the benefits of eating.

“Come on,” Caspar wheedled, taking Linhardt’s hand, “I think it’s those buns tonight. You know the ones I mean.”

“I do,” Linhardt conceded. “They are rather delicious. Perhaps I’ll see you then. Or, even better, maybe you can bring some to me.”

“Great!” Caspar said, his face splitting into a grin. “So, you heading back to the dorms? You’re going the wrong way.”

“I was looking for you,” Linhardt said, “And now I have found you. Which means all I need to do is to remember what it was that I was going to ask you…”

He yawned, a hand draped lazily in front of his mouth. It did little to obscure the sight, but Caspar finds Linhardt’s yawns too adorable to care. His own mouth contorted in a sympathy yawn, even though he was anything but sleepy.

“Oh, yes,” Linhardt said, snapping his fingers and bringing Caspar back to attention. “I remember. Caspar, would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

More words followed, but the phrase ‘sleep with me’ deafened Caspar to all else, ringing in his head and drowning out all thought. His body had felt heavy after working so hard but hearing those words was like one of Linhardt’s warping spells, leaving him weightless.

“Yeah!” Caspar said, realising that Linhardt has finished speaking and is waiting for a response. The last thing he wants is the offer being rescinded, not when it’s more than he’s ever hoped for.

“Good,” Linhardt said, as casually as if he’d agreed to tea instead of fulfilling Caspar’s number one fantasy, “I’ll see you later. My room. Bring the buns.”

With that, he spun around took off in the direction of the dorms.

“Yep!” Caspar called after him, waving his arm in an exuberant goodbye that Linhardt doesn’t even catch. “Later!”

Grinning and glowing, Caspar could not believe his luck. Then, abruptly, he remembered that this was Linhardt, who was notoriously picky when it came to everything and wasn’t shy about sharing his opinion, and his elation turned to panic. He was hours away from disappointing Linhardt.

Caspar scrapped any existing plans for the day. It was now imperative that he studied harder than ever before and figure out how to get good at sex in the space of an afternoon. (He did, thankfully, take a detour to bathe. Linhardt might accommodate his sweat, to a point, but Linhardt accommodated a lot of Caspar that other people don’t. Especially tonight, Caspar thought, his face crimson, when Linhardt would be accommodating Caspar in a whole new way.)

Caspar could never be described as a scholar, but he’s no fool. This isn’t some measly test or stupid certification exam that he can bluster his way through, this is delivering satisfaction to Linhardt. The only experience he’s got of sleeping with people are when he’s bunked with Linhardt (sleepovers when they were children, Caspar hiding out from the storms when they were at the academy, sharing tents once they had gone to war), so he was starting from zero. But what he lacked in experience, he was determined to compensate for with enthusiasm (limitless) and intense study.

His first challenge would be to find a book which will tell him what to do. Luckily, there’s a library, with books ordered by topic. All he needed to do was to find the section of books on sex, which was surely going to be a piece of cake.

* * *

Half an hour later, Caspar had yet to crack open a single book. He has completed several circuits of the library, staring blankly at the shelves, but try as he might he can’t decipher the code that orders them. It’s been explained to him before, on more than one occasion, but he and Linhardt had a deal: Linhardt would find the books and Caspar would carry them. It worked in Linhardt’s favour, since he had far greater demand for books than Caspar, but that doesn’t help Caspar now.

“Enough!” Lysithea snapped, slamming her book closed and glowering at Caspar as he completed his fifteenth or fiftieth course of the library. “What are you looking for? I’ll help you find it so you can get out of here.”

She barely acknowledged his profuse thanks, sliding from her seat and glowering. “It’s for Linhardt, I assume? What’s caught his attention today?”

“Nope, it’s for me,” Caspar said, cheerily. “I’m studying by myself today.”

Lysithea openly scoffed at the notion, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “You? Studying? You never did that when you were a student. Why would you wait until the middle of a war to begin?”

“Desparate times call for desperate measures,” Caspar said, straightening up. “But, uh, you sure you know your way around this place?”

“I do,” Lysithea said, though her tone of voice carries a warning that Caspar completely misses.

“Great! So, I need the books on sex.”

She had her back to him, which was likely for the best. Caspar waited a beat for a reply, wondering if maybe he needed to be more specific.

“This is a monastery,” Lysithea said, finally.

“Uh huh,” Caspar said, nodding. “So… Does that affect where they’re stored?”

She rounded on him, hair and veil fluttering as she threw her hands in the air. Caspar took a step back, his eyes locked on those hands. He’d seen terrible things come from those fingers, usually while Lysithea wore a similar expression to the one she was wearing now.

“It means it doesn’t have those kinds of books!”

That was a sentence worse than death. No books meant no learning, unless he could wheedle the professor into some tutoring on the weekend. Which didn’t seem appropriate in all sorts of ways. Everyone needed time off, after all.

“Really?” Caspar said, slumping dejectedly. “But I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“That’s obvious,” Lysithea agreed. Caspar collapsed onto a chair, burying his head in his hands. “Hey, aren’t you leaving? I just said that we don’t have your pervert books!”

“I’m ruined,” he moaned, his voice muffled. “I’m going to be the worst in bed and Linhardt is never going to want to sleep with me again.”

“Look,” Lysithea said, slamming a hand on the table and jerking Caspar out of his self-pity. “You need help. Obviously, you can’t get it from a _monastery library_. If anything like that ever got in here – which it wouldn’t – it would have been immediately confiscated! You need to look somewhere else.”

“Where?”

* * *

  
  


“Caspar,” Edelgard’s voice was as sharp as an arrow at his back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Caspar lied automatically, before remembering that he was not technically doing anything wrong. “I mean, I was trying to figure out how to get to Abyss, but that’s all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Edelgard echoed, perching a hand on her hip. “Then why have you been scurrying like a mouse trying to make off with the last of the cheese?”

“I haven’t been scurrying!” Caspar said. “I’ve just been…uh…”

“Acting guilty,” Edelgard supplied. “Caspar, please. Are you in trouble?”

Her voice was weary but patient. Even though the dark rings around her eyes indicated that she had much bigger concerns than what her former classmate and now general might be doing on his days off, she was still watching over him. Caspar sighed, covering his reddening face with his hands.

“It’s stupid,” he said, his voice muffled. “You don’t gotta worry about it.”

“And yet,” Edelgard said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “You’re not going down there to dispense justice with your fists, are you?”

“Nah,” Caspar said. “I was going to the library there.”

Whatever Edelgard had suspected Caspar of doing evidently hadn’t included the possibility of reading, as her eyebrows shot up so fast Caspar thought her eyes might pop out.

“I see,” she said, nodding, “It is a well-furnished library, but I admit that I am surprised…and it does not explain your furtive checking that you were not being followed.”

“Well,” Caspar said. It had been one thing explaining this to Lysithea and quite another to tell the Emperor. “You see.”

Caspar cleared his throat. Something seemed stuck in it. Like, all the words, and also his courage.

“I would like to see, yes,” Edelgard prompted, when Caspar didn’t follow up on his words.

“I want a book,” Caspar began, and stopped.

“That is why people visit libraries,” Edelgard said. “Please, Caspar, just spit it out.”

Closing his eyes, Caspar took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He just needed to tell Edelgard what kind of book he needed. That was all. Nothing to worry about. He opened his eyes again, taking in her expectant face. He bolted.

Learning was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated.


End file.
